


Sucker Love

by Darksilversilhouette



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Character Study, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-11 09:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksilversilhouette/pseuds/Darksilversilhouette
Summary: What happens when you settle for the next best thing? How long can someone fool themselves before the truth becomes too much of a burden to bear? Or maybe there's some virtue to being content with what you have, with what's in front of your eyes, instead of always craving for more.Genesis, though, never ever wanted to be put together in one sentence with the word 'virtue'.





	1. Every Me...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Axisunicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axisunicorn/gifts).



> I wrote this chapter listening to Every Me and Every You, by Placebo, hence the name, though I don't own anything in regards to the song or whatever. I was simply inspired by the song, so there's that. With that out of the way, and hopefully you'll forgive my mistakes-for which I fully take responsibility but hope that they don't take away from the experience-and without any further ado, enjoy.

It was a clear night. There was, of course, always the photopollution of the metropolis expanding tens of floors below.

It was all thanks to the wind that had picked up a few hours prior, but must have been there all day to rub the grime of smog and mako vapors away from the dome of the-now-cloudless welkin. Maybe it wasn’t chilly enough yet, or maybe it was all thanks to mako, but the low temperature-whether perceived or actual-hadn’t been enough to make him go back inside. 

It had been a long time that he was standing outside on the balcony staring at everything and nothing at the same time. 

At first, if he squinted, he could make out some of those forever out of reach celestial bodies adorning the indigo tapestry of the sky, but by now, the silvery dots of the constellations were visible enough to add to the bitterness that had been poisoning his mood.

There were quite many things that he could count by the time that he’d been out, but what was the point in doing so anyway? Did anyone really care if the ashtray was more or less overflowing with cigarette butts now? He didn’t care, so why should anyone else really? After all, didn’t they say that there’s no one that could come close to one’s love for oneself? If he didn’t love himself enough to stop from finishing a whole pack in one go, then… 

The sneer that tugged on a corner of his lips was something born from his subconscious, short-lived as he raised the still burning roll of paper and tobacco to his lips to take yet another drag before inhaling the smoke deep within his lungs; feeling the sharp burn of it and the lightheadedness that made him rely a little harder on the cold concrete and steel wall beside him.

The moon hadn’t risen over the horizon, so the twinkling of those distant gaseous spheres was unrivaled by something that only reflected the light of the one that was the closest to their planet. He could appreciate it for its unique beauty, and comparing it to the sun was as absurd as it wasn’t right logically, emotionally and astronomically. 

Strangely, it reminded him of Sephiroth, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he crushed it with an iron fist and watched as the wind took the cinders of that vein of rumination away.

For now, at least.

Because-and there was no fooling himself-that was exactly one of the reasons the sheets had gone cold for a long while now beside the still slumbering dark-haired First in his bedroom behind him.

_ My soul corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey… In my own salvation and your eternal slumber. _

Eternal slumber. How fitting. Because his best friend seemed forever blinded by notions that he could never understand, no matter whichever angle he utilized for looking at them; no matter how many times they held debates over them. Recently, they were only a cause for heated arguments between the two of them, so they’d just agreed to disagree on that without verbally coming to that decision together. He didn’t know Angeal’s motives for that, but he didn’t want to lose the only friendship he had...Sephiroth not included, because his relationship with the silver-haired General-who was currently at the front and had been for the better part of the month-was just too complicated. Regardless, Genesis couldn’t-or at least the poignant taste crawling up his throat and over his tongue didn’t let him-ignore the sneaking suspicion he had that Angeal letting go of the whole honor, dreams and pride bullshit around him had something to do with them sleeping together. Or rather simply put, his  _ best friend _ didn’t want to push him  _ too hard _ and lose  _ this _ .

Genesis would have laughed out loud bitterly if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that it’d wake up the man sleeping in his bedroom. It was already too hard… The redhead wasn’t sure about the state of their friendship anymore.  _ And who was to blame for that?  _ Maybe it was because he had been the top again… Taking matters into his own hands and exercising control, bending Angeal’s muscular body beneath him as he himself broke into two was too much of a sharp recollection now, compared to the times he was on the receiving end and losing control. Sexually, they didn’t have any problems bringing each other to those dizzying heights of pleasure, but-and Genesis was sure the dark-haired First knew-that the reason sometimes the redheaded Commander bit his lips hard enough to bleed was solely because he couldn’t bear the look on his childhood friend’s face if he called Sephiroth’s name again in a sigh.

Both of them knew it, and they still continued doing it.

Again, he didn’t know why, couldn’t understand how Angeal could do it knowing full well how deep Genesis’ emotions for the third ring of their tight circle went, but for some reason, he seemed content. For some reason, he seemed to be able to turn a blind eye to that when those big calloused palms brushed across the length of the redhead’s body...he seemed to genuinely enjoy it. And the older First hadn’t known how tormenting it could be, how something like that could seep acrid venom into the deepening cracks of their friendship at those times that he couldn’t rationalize it as any other thing but selfishness. And how could Angeal, of all people, betray those same fucking notions he kept spewing in front of every single member of SOLDIER at every turn? How could he sully all the good times, all the good memories they had shared in their childhood and teenage years just for sleeping with him? 

Genesis… Well, he was already a freak. He knew their relationship was an abusive one, an abusive cycle. He didn’t care if it was petty, if it was ridiculous or not, but if he couldn’t have Sephiroth, he was going for the next best thing. And when Angeal seemed so  _ fucking eager _ , what was another love abused...when there was nothing else to do. And really, it wasn’t love… Maybe it had been once, maybe it still was deep down, and that was why Genesis was floundering in the ocean of bane that had come undone at the culmination of their mutual unraveling, but now it was sucker love, like every other short-lived affair he’d had. It was, after all, the nature of it, to swing, to waste and lay waste to whatever remained of their friendship but he was as much at fault as was his dark-haired friend. They had done this together, and now the only question that remained was what was going to become of  _ them _ , if there was anything left. Maybe now, it was just you or me, singular, instead of a cohesive unit…  _ The _ cohesive unit that they had been for all their years together, through thick and thin, and now someone was going to be left behind, bruised and bent...but not  _ broken _ .

Because if Angeal, if his pride, if his body was bent…Genesis’ was broken. Perhaps had been broken for a very long time.

And maybe that was why the next moment the table that the ashtray had been perched atop crashed through the full-length window of his bedroom and ended up at the side of the bed, upon which Angeal bolted upright, looking frantically for something to defend both of them with against the nonexistent adversary only for a pair of alarmed sapphire orbs to land on him. And those severe jet-black eyebrows quirked downwards into a faint scowl, the sharp angles and planes of the younger man’s physicality relaxing minutely but still pretty much tense.

Surely that wasn’t the ideal method for waking someone up, but Genesis didn’t care. Obviously, the dark-haired Commander was anticipating a fight because he didn’t budge, didn’t speak, waited with sheets pooling around his waist for the redhead to shed some light on the causality of the table currently lying haphazardly on the floor among a multitude of shards. 

The scarlet-haired First decided to enlighten him then. “Was it all meaningless to you?” His tone wasn’t angry, which came as a surprise, but he continued regardless. “I decided to whore myself out, but how could your honor and-”

“-What are you talking about Gen?” was the obviously confuzzled reply. And of course, his best friend’s brain would be as dense as a Wutain bull now.

“What am I talking about.  _ Ha _ .” Averting a burning cerulean gaze, Genesis lifted his almost finished cigarette to his lips. He was probably smoking the filter from how the heat of it nearly burned his fore and middle fingers, but he couldn’t care any less.

“You wanted this as much as I did. You  _ started _ it, and now it’s all my fault?” 

He couldn’t believe the shit he was hearing. “It was just a fucking kiss. I was high and you were so fucking  _ drunk _ you couldn’t see straight! Do you fuck everyone you kiss, ‘ngeal?”

“You know that’s not true, Gen. You know that’s  _ not true. _ Don’t pull this shit on me again in the middle of the-...” A big strong palm brushed over Angeal’s seemingly weary visage, and the younger First really didn’t have the right to feel weary because they had just started, they were nowhere near finished with this, and Genesis had had enough. 

“ _ How could you  _ sully  _ all the time we shared? _ Just for  _ sex, Ang? _ ” And if there were burning pinpricks in his eyes, the redhead ignored them, didn’t break their eye contact even as those sapphire eyes widened, and if it was in surprise to the use of that old nickname or the context of his query, the scarlet-haired Commander didn’t know. “ _ I loved you. _ ” A barely audible whisper that sounded more hurt, more betrayed than Genesis would’ve liked to admit, but he had uttered it, and he was sure the man in front of him had heard it, because the emotions he was feeling was mirrored in those sky-blue pools. 

It was disgusting.

And so was the weight of the silence that settled between the two of them. So thick it felt like they’d need Masamune to cut it through. 

The desire to cradle his face in his hands, to wish for everything to just fade into the noir of nothingness was so strong, but he couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t acknowledge the small voice inside him that wished Sephiroth wasn’t thousands of miles away, in some cursed island hacking his way through oceans of armor, bone, and flesh. Moreover, he knew he couldn’t expect those muscular arms that were pushing the sheets away to hold him when he was breaking apart… Not anymore. Not after this.

Even if Angeal would, Genesis’ pride wouldn’t let him seek them out.

The dark-haired Commander slowly stood up, with his back to him and shoulders that were almost imperceptibly hunched forward before bending down to pick up pieces of fabric up from the ground.

“What are you doing?” The redhead queried, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing minutely as his fury simmered underneath his skin. When more silence met his words, he decided that they might as well spar their way through this, if it was what Angeal desired. That was why he raised one leaden foot after the other to close the distance between them, and the younger soldier wasn’t turning around.  _ Don’t you dare turn your back on me. _ And Genesis was dreading this because he was leaving a trail of shards behind himself, spider-cracks deepening across his already broken psyche. 

A grab on a well-built broad shoulder to make his childhood friend face him.  _ Face me. _ And Angeal did, but the wrist of the hand that he had used for the forceful movement was seized in an iron grip. He’d bruise. Good. Because that veneer of calm and that iron curtain of honor and shit would soon come crashing down. It happened all the time, it just took different things for everyone, different buttons needed to be pushed, and sometimes the push needed to become shove. 

Yank, but his comrade’s hold was unrelenting. “What would you have me do?” The fingers around his wrist let go to hold his shoulders instead, a shake and it was so abrupt it stunned him into motionlessness, because he hadn’t ever seen Angeal so forward, so expressive. “I’ve been doing what you wanted, I’ve always, and yet it’s never enough for you it.”

“You know why it’s never enough.” He replied without hesitation, cold, unfeeling, even as he saw that stoic face twist into unabashed disgust, even as he was shoved backwards as anger became forefront on his childhood friend’s visage. Genesis went with it, stumbled but regained his footing and continued in the same monotonous fashion he had formulated the previous remark. “You knew it and yet you decided to fuck me. _ You knew it _ , had known it all along, and yet you  _ chose  _ to do it.” A haughty smirk was slowly edging its way on his lips as Angeal started pacing in front of him, his glaucous shirt and boots still remaining on the floor. “Question is, why?” A furious sapphire glare was shot his way, as those same fingers ran through sable locks over and over again. “ _ Why _ did you prefer having those bullshit ideas about pride and honor shoved up your ass by yours truly and have your dick up mine instead? Huh, ‘ngeal?” And maybe he was going too far, but he might as well do so when everything was burning around them and no bridge was left connecting his shores to those of the blue-eyed individual in front of him. “ _ Why did you  _ when you  _ knew _ it was  _ him _ I was imagining in my head whenever you fucked me into the mattress?” Rage and bane were all that was pouring into his words. “Is-...”

“ _You’re sick_.” was the retort that was shot back to his face, as Angeal whirled around to face him, betrayal and hurt laced with obvious indignation paramount on his visage as he quickly stepped into his boots as he continued. “You mock his fans and yet you’re just like them. Make your goddamn _mind!_ ” A loud exhale, and silence once more as the younger First didn’t seem to be able to make up his mind on what to do before seemingly coming to a minute decision and approached him instead. “You say you loved me, you ask me why, like you don’t know me better than I do myself, so let me say it for you loud and clear.” And this time, when those hands cupped his visage, there was nothing of those negative emotions lingering on Angeal’s. And Genesis didn’t know how his best friend could do that, could trample on his feelings so easily, and instead touch him like he always did; with care, as though the redhead was something brittle that would shatter upon contact. It made the older First want to squirm instead because he was not fragile, and where was this care when the dark-haired man had called him _sick_ and shoved him away a few minutes earlier? Could Angeal be any more paradoxical? Instead, the redhead only sneered, but that didn’t seem to be enough to discourage his comrade from whatever he was going to do, whatever he was going to say. “I loved you too. I want to love you still even though you make it _so goddamn hard_ to do sometimes. I still do care for you Gen.” There was an uncertainty, some sort of insecurity swirling in those usually kind sapphire irises, but nothing seemed to be able to get through the callous facade Genesis had raised over his visage, no amount of light could illuminate the void that was gaping inside him, nothing seemed to fill it, not now, not ever. “I’m still your friend.” was a quiet, slightly unsure utterance. “You said that it’s okay, don’t you remember?” Those calloused fingers caressed his cheek slightly, tucked some of the wayward longer auburn tresses behind the shell of his ear. “I still do care for you Gen. _Please_ , don’t do this. We don’t have to continue any of this, it’s nothing-and I _mean_ **nothing** when I could still have your friendship. You’re like a-”

And maybe he should have sufficed to spitting at that kind-hearted face, but  _ no _ , that wasn’t happening because he was already too far gone. “Is that what  _ Gillian  _ taught you?”

It was quite expected then, for Genesis to find himself sprawled on the floor, with saliva-diluted blood trickling down his chin from his broken lip while he held onto the very same frame at the foot of the bed that had caused him to end up where he had in the first place when he’d stumbled from the force of Angeal’s punch to his face.

It seemed to take a whole minute for the both of them to register what had happened. For Genesis to raise his hand to his mouth and watch as his fingertips came stained with crimson, and for the other occupant of the room to drop to his knees beside him and attempt to make up for what he had done. A tentative hand reached out for him, but the older man batted it aside like a fly.

“ _ Don’t touch me. _ ” He hissed, not raising his head as he wiped his mouth with the back of his palm. His jaws were still aching, throbbing dully but he didn’t raise his hand to touch, didn’t want to feel the lingering ghost of Angeal’s knuckles against his cheek. This was way too personal...the younger man knew this and yet he chose to do it. He knew that the scarlet-haired First had only been slapped twice by his father and from then onwards had always hated the older man’s guts, but his  _ best friend _ had decided to do the exact same thing.

“I’m sorry,  _ Gen _ , I-I-”

“Get out.”

“ _ Gen- _ ”

“ _ Get the  _ fuck  _ outta ma’ house! _ ”

There was something oddly perfect about feeling rather than seeing Angeal recoil, to hear him scramble to his feet after another attempt at reaching out toward him-which the dark-haired Commander put a stop to mid-gesture this time himself-then take his shirt off the floor and to almost run out of the bedroom. The heavy drum of those boots was something familiar, something he’d come to know just as much as he’d come to know Sephiroth’s almost silent gait, and yet they evoked nothing in him as they grew further and further away. The hiss of the hinge mechanism of the door, and suddenly the place felt so empty and desolate. His childhood friend’s egress was something physical to Genesis’ keen senses as he slowly crawled forward on his knees to lean his back to the wall facing his bed; as he hiked up his legs to wrap his arms around his shins and lean his forehead on his bare knees. With the smell of his own blood filling his nostrils and the coppery taste of it on his tongue as he worried the cut so it couldn’t heal as quickly as was the case with the amount of mako in his bloodstream.

After all, he had always been alone before Angeal came to his life, and later Sephiroth. An insidious part of him whispered that his existence or nonexistence would be nothing to the silver-haired man, but Genesis couldn’t care any less. However, the notion cut him deep down like a poisonous knife, the stigma slowly blooming and encompassing every facet of him like a dot of ebony ink on canvas, tainting it. 

No matter.

He didn’t need anyone to believe in him, in his existence. He’d grown up learning to be self-reliant, there was no reason he couldn’t continue to do so now.

So he sat, alone, in the darkness of his room, with gears turning in his head, and a small bloody smile on his lips.


	2. ...And Every You.

_Costa del Sol looked really beautiful. Innumerable yellow sands meeting the endless blue. Even bluer than the sky._  
_  
A flap of thick paper, and there were more photos greeting twin pairs of blue eyes. There were people lying around on their towels, sunbathing, and some on deck chairs lounging in the shade of striped umbrellas. Children making sandcastles and playing around, all seen through the eyes of the cameraman. The pictures were mostly of scenery though, of the landscape. Of the dwellings made from what appeared like cob, amber-hued; a juice bar, a cottage bearing a sign that read ‘Tapas’ in bright red against a white background, and more adobe buildings that seemed to provide tourists with various amenities._

_They didn’t really matter to him, not as much as the minimalist ones did, even though there was still no sign of the person who took the photographs among his souvenirs. And finally…there it was._

_Pale toes, digging in the sand just shy of the waves that seemed to have been retreating in that photo. And again, there was the apparently endless expanse of golden shores, with waves lapping and the occasional abundance of seashells, of seaweed brought forth and left behind on the land. Another villa...with succulent gardens, and a polished exterior… The blurred silhouette of someone wreathed in white flowing clothes-no, a dress, a woman-...further ahead, inside, and everything screamed of extravagance and wealth, but it was still hurried, the shapes and colors smearing together-..._

_“-They’re silly. Let me show you the rest of them that are actually worth seeing.”_

_Ivory fingers plucked yet another page, several pages further but he stopped them before they could turn them over._

_“They’re not-...”_  
  
_“-Gen, dear, would you mind coming here?” was his mother’s voice, not too far away inside their little cottage._

_It was hard to miss the scent of dumbapple pie, but they had both agreed not to spoil her fun when she probably thought she could surprise them both. Chortling quietly in unison, and the rare smile on those lips was something beautiful, the way it lighted up azure eyes._

_“Don’t you dare turn the page over without me.” was a mischievous threat, and soon his best friend was gone; Angeal not sparing a moment to return his gaze back to the image of a redhead lying half-naked on a plush sofa in his swim trunks, apparently fast asleep._

_The next page, and there was a multitude of photos of the same redhead, the photographer probably Genesis’ governess, what was her name again? But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the close-up from that somnolent face, pale cerise cheekbones sprinkled with barely-there freckles. The redhead looked so peaceful…_

_So beautiful._

_Doing anything and everything._

_Lounging with a book cradled in his hands, and sitting next to Rebecca with sunglasses perched atop an aeonian nose. Of an auburn frown. A pink tongue sticking out in clear irritation and intent to offend, and the book wasn’t held there in those long slender fingers that had recently learned strumming the guitar. A forward movement, blurred, with a middle finger held out proudly and he couldn’t help but grin like an idiot._

_And maybe he was._

_Because he wanted to have those photographs, or at least a copy of them. Just so he could go through them every once in a while. Especially when the redhead went away with his family on long travels that sometimes seemed never ending. The trips that left him missing his childhood friend terribly. Letters could only help so much, or maybe not help his recently developed feelings, none at all… And maybe he was an idiot, because he knew that Genesis would give them to him, even the whole album-he’d tease him of course, but he would do it-without a moment hesitation, as he would any other thing were Angeal to ask of him; be it a single dumbapple from the Rhapsodos’ orchard, or some money._  
_  
But he couldn’t do that._

_Just as he couldn’t ask for the photographs he’d otherwise line the walls of his bedroom with._

* * *

That was all that remained now.

Photographs.

But even the otherwise vivid hues on the glossy papers could fade given enough time.

Memories.

And even a photographic memory wasn’t a hundred percent perfect. Too many biological parameters factored in, too many personal variables regarding the individual possessing such proficient mental faculties.

And death would come for them all.

Another empty lifeless husk added to the row of identical ones in body bags.

He could only wonder, bitterly, so vengefully it shocked him into motionlessness, into an equally expressionless husk as he stood by and watched with a thousand-mile stare as the here and now blurred into the past and bygones.

He could only wonder if _he_ whom that-now-eternally peaceful visage loved so much would be able to tell the difference between the real thing, and all those painfully familiar mockeries.

* * *

_Lazy mornings. Such a luxury._

_Rare were the times that they could be present in the same spatial coordinates without being drenched in blood and covered head to toe in either mud or gore._

_And even rarer still, the occasions the three of them could gather together. Pleasant camaraderie, of time spent doing the most mundane things. Playing cards, chess, bickering over strategies while attempting to get shitfaced drunk but never really being able to-not at all like their earlier days at SOLDIER when they weren’t consuming gallons worth of mako like tractors would gasoline._

_Sleepover, and they were all lounging around in varying degrees of misery, hung-over and it was Genesis and one of his witty remarks, something that the dark-haired First was sure the redhead had uttered because he knew that the third ring of their trio would find funny-tried and tested-that did the job; got those smile cracking the seams of their lips, and it didn’t take long for them to find themselves laughing, or rather him and his blue-eyed childhood friend laughing and for Sephiroth to get as close to laughing as he could._

_Breakfast was a different thing however. Simple, because the eldest of them refused to let Angeal do any ‘extravagant’ cooking, and neither of the remaining duo were fond of culinary skills._

_Dark steaming liquid circulating in ceramic mugs. A lingering touch, and jealousy never tasted so poignant on his tongue as he tried his damnedest to beat it with a metaphorical Buster Sword. Told himself that the silver-haired man was oblivious to it, and he was, he really was. It didn’t matter, the quotes, the verses, Angeal was sure if Genesis declared his love loud and clear, it wouldn’t still work, because Sephiroth, in all his brilliance and intelligence, could be really dense when it came to these sort of thing; sentiment, feelings. Or so he thought. And he couldn’t be anymore at war with himself as he was in those moments. Because he wanted to step forward and grab those broad proud shoulders, and shake the youngest of them so that maybe the veils over those green irises would fall…to spell it out for the silver-haired First that those lingering glances those azure eyes sent his way when Genesis thought the General wasn’t looking meant. And he wanted to do the same with his best friend, try to make him put aside his pride, even if it was just for once, and for his own personal happiness…_

_But he hadn’t, because he was a coward and a piss-poor friend and even a lesser man. Because he was afraid that if the duo finally could work out their problems, and somehow form some kind of relationship, he was going to lose two of his closest friends._

_Maybe they could work out just fine being friends...all three of them._

_So he had sat, watching as the metal vibrated under ivory fingertips while those digits that could be as lethal as they were affectionate, artistically strummed a mellifluous tone from the guitar Genesis had brought to Midgar all those years ago; the notes waltzing over and along the chartreuse rays that filtered through the shades covering floor-to-ceiling windows, coloring the easy quiescence that’d comfortably settled over the space._

_How he loved those fingers, and their redheaded owner… if only he could give voice to it. But it’d been incredibly hard...so he had swallowed those words, had decided silently that he wouldn’t stay long… and maybe that had been the right thing to do if he had the will to follow it through._

* * *

But he hadn’t.

...How spectacularly he had failed that vision.

A proud back bowed, a harsh breath echoing off metal walls inside the lonely darkness of the mako excavation facility, and Angeal couldn’t hold it back anymore. Sliding down the metal and concrete railing to the floor, and a saline droplet made its lonely trek down his cheek to get tangled in his unshaven beard. Another, and he was soon sobbing uncontrollably. Every time his terrified irises landed on the coagulating carmine pool on the floor of the dented metal platform, which he couldn’t seem to be able to tear his gaze from.

And he wanted that melody from that day out of his head, he wanted those images out of his head as much as he wanted to hold them close to his heart. A heart that was breaking into a million pieces.

He wished he could be cruel… he wished he could be that person who’d say that this Genesis was not the Genesis he had known through all these years. That the man who had spewed those words since that _cursed_ day they had kissed, the redheaded First who had quarreled with him that night before going AWOL a month later in Wutai, the same familiar visage that kept flashing next to ‘MIA’ on SOLDIER floor monitors was the same person who Angeal had befriended all those years ago, that he’d come to love more than a brother, more than a friend…

And he wanted to have been there to voice his worries, to utter while gazing in those azure irises that the words that passed that cerise mouth made him really nervous, because the face that had met his eyes looked like his childhood friend’s but the person behind them was somebody else. That he’d heard a stranger when the usually melodious voice had cold-heartedly spat those harsh bitter truths about their origins, the same voice that had cut the dark-haired First open as a venomous dagger would while the older man demanded he pick the side he was on. And he really hadn’t… but apparently his ‘absence’ had been taken differently.

But he’d had to. Confronting Gillian with the truth had nearly cost him the life of the only person whom he held dear apart from his friends and his protege, and if he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t been around to heal her, to nurse her back to health and try and beat some reason-as gently and diligently as he could muster considering the topic-into that beautiful head of grey, Angeal hadn’t known how he’d be able to deal with himself every waking hour of every day.

And now, he was late.

Now, he had to face the fact that every hour of every day haunted by the lingering memories, by the love that had left him behind. Left him sitting here, alone and cold, disbelieving that he was gone.

And he couldn’t, no matter how many times he wished that he had the courage, that he had the _gall_ to jump like the redhead had, to plunge himself into the pitch-black unfolding below for this cage of flesh and bone to set him free.

 _‘Liberty in death.’_  Once, a long time ago, he had muttered, sipping his red wine, azure eyes illuminated by the warm hues of the fireplace, glinting sharply with that unfocused look in them whenever he was fascinated by a concept. _‘The only true freedom.’_

How Angeal had wished Genesis to have been wrong.

How he wished he was right.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Last day at service, Zack had come to him looking forlorn-and Angeal could understand it, even in his grief, after all it had been less than a month that… But as much as he’d tried to comfort his protege, it still didn’t change the fact that he was leaving them, it didn’t make the thought that he had utterly failed his dreams, his honor, any less; it didn’t make it go away.

Shinra had been surprisingly accommodating, had actually complied with his request to resign with as little fanfare as possible. The dark-haired SOLDIER hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that his leaving the headquarters could quite possibly make him end up next to that sleek slab of black marble with subdued golden engravings. But just as his mother had somehow managed to live long despite being one of Shinra’s dirty little secrets, then so might he.

Regardless, he and the younger dark-haired First had exchanged little words that day, sitting inside his more or less empty office-save for the cardboard boxes that held his personal belongings-and it had been hard to maintain a straight face for so long, even though he knew that his eyes were just as glassy as the aquamarine ones that seemed to bore into his soul. It felt like his protege somehow knew, the way his youthful voice was riddled with barely veiled worry… but Angeal had tried.

It appeared though that all his endeavors had been for naught. Because the moment Zack had handed over that notebook to him, explaining haltingly, hesitatingly how it’d come to be in his possession just as the Banoran had turned the first page, and the puppy might have as well picked up Buster Sword and ran him through. Angeal had been certain that his pupil had never seen his tears before, but apparently there was a first time for everything. Their roles had reversed in the comforting department right then and there, and while he had been grateful for it, he’d needed his solitude… had needed it and time for the object in his trembling hand.

And it had been understood.

The younger blue-eyed First had bid him farewell only to run back and give him a tight brief hug before snapping at attention and taking his leave with another final goodbye. And Angeal had spent the next couple of hours gazing at the item he’d been given before finally mustering up enough courage to take it up from its perch on his desk, and start reading. Seconds had turned into minutes, minutes into an hour and then into hours, and by the time he had finished perusing it, it’d been the crack of dawn...the start of a new day, another day Angeal wished would have never come.

Sometimes, he wondered if he had arrived sooner at Modeoheim that day maybe things would have been different.

It was useless now. Meaningless.

Reading the memoir had broken him. And if it was possible, the request at the end had broken him even further. Having scrubbed a weary hand across his haggard visage, his leaden feet had taken him to the brightly illuminated corridors of the HQ, the acknowledgements of his presence-be it salutes or words-falling on deaf ears and blind eyes for he could be pretty much a ghost, a dead man walking, and that’d been how he found himself where he had been standing for the past several moments.

Anyone passing him might have as well thought him certifiable, because his irises seemed to be looking through the black inscription adorning the pages, through the bold black debossed letters on the silver tablet for some answer, for a hint, anything, but no such luck.

Moments into minutes, and his mind still wasn’t made up.

And Angeal knew _he_ was _there_ , just a doorway away, knew that _he_ knew that the dark-haired First- _former First,_ he corrected himself-was standing right where he had been for the past several minutes. And they were still friends, they were still colleagues...but, were they?

_‘Give this to him after I’m gone. Can you please at least do this for me, Ang?’_

His sapphire eyes traversed from the flowing cursive that marked the end, to the plaque next to the hydraulic-operated wooden door. It filled him with equal amounts of despair and rage, and oh, the irony… because even after… even now… he could make Angeal feel at war with himself.

**SEPHIROTH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, apparently I can't stop myself from writing tragedies, and the characters seem to want to do whatever they want without asking for my opinion; or permission for that matter. I'm sorry that it took such a turn, and also without warning. The next chapter will be the epilogue, I know... this was supposed to be finished in two chapters, but then again I seem to be unable to refuse my muses... *facepalms* I don't think hoping that you enjoyed reading this is the right way to go about it, but yeah...


	3. The Cape of Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily inspired by Hyde's The Cape of Storms when I wrote this. And the artwork is 'in fire' by Insant on DeviantArt. They have other amazing works, but seeing that image reminded me of Genesis, and I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy.

_Autumn 2001_

 

_I don’t know if this will ever reach you, but I’m doing it anyway. Call it a note if you will._

_That’s what normal people do… don’t they?_

_I’d say I chose a beautiful season for it-meaningful, even though it hadn’t been exactly my intent. In the Spring of my life-as much as I’d disagree with that notion considering my state of ‘living’ but considering my age even though it’s just a number, because we all grew up and grew old too fast didn’t we? While it’s still the season of falling leaves wherever you are-Midgar I presume, up to your ears in paperwork, as always-and it’s been Winter here for so goddamn long it seems like an eternity… Here lies the meaning though, I skipped Summer because the Summer of our lives simply never came, we just had snippets of it, bits and pieces here and there, and those memories have been what I’d kept close to my heart for so long...their still smoldering embers what kept this cooling body warm day after day after day…_

_Not anymore._  
_  
_ _I hope that day never comes in your life when you’d miss moments that weren’t brilliant, bright, and cherishable. But here, wandering amongst ghosts, wandering through desolated snowy paths of this godforsaken town, waking up everyday to the bleak sunless skies forever shrouded by heavy clouds that seem to want to bury this place under their burden… I miss many things. I miss warmth. I miss running underneath the arcs of Banora Whites laden with ripening apples, I miss dozing off on stacks of hay and getting it everywhere in my clothes and hair, I even miss getting backhanded for it when I reached Rhapsodos mansion…but I don’t miss_ them _. No, I don’t miss_ them. _I miss caressing the ivories of my piano...even though I can still hear the melodies in my head, but the cool of them… their pliable inflexibility as I plucked tunes out of strings… Sometimes I look at my hands and wonder…_

_I miss Angeal… I miss you… when we were young. I remember your eyes, the nuances of how they changed every year in those hideous annual photos you had to pose for along President Shinra. I miss your first lopsided smile around that bonfire at camp, somewhere nameless in Wutai. I miss our talks, the bickering, the fights, our falling outs and get togethers...the spars also. I miss your stupid yet brilliant questions about everything and nothing, and I miss the first time you laughed. I miss Angeal’s laughter too. Ever the serious one, always going by the book… until you weren’t Angie._

_And I know how much you hate that nickname, but I sincerely hope reading it brings a smile to your ever solemn lips… I wish I could trace it with my fingertips._

_So yes, Sephiroth, I miss you...terribly...among other things._  
_  
I wanted you to be there… here. I wanted your eyes on me, but you never came… instead you came too late, didn’t you? It was the only thing I would have wanted you to do for me… but, nevermind I guess. I can’t hold it against you, being as you are, being who you are…_

_The love of my life._

_There now. I said it, Ang. Put aside my pride._

_See? It never works._

_(P.S. I’m sorry if I keep talking to ‘Geal, because he’ll probably get this first, if Shinra doesn’t confiscate it to attach it to my archives-the journal of one of their epic-fail-projects-gone-awry.)_

_Problem is, you never noticed, you never notice-present tense-… Heh, never noticed the color of sin in those honorable blue eyes, did you? But ‘Geal knows… He knows everything, completely, even the taste of it. I’m sorry ‘Geal, but you had your moments of pleasure, of fulfillment...but I’m sure you know as well as I, that every dream has its time to die._

_Maybe you’d tell me what’s my rush, that everyone will have his day to die… Or maybe… you’d tell me you don't want to watch me… being such a mess, that I am. The suicidal imbecile that_ they _called me. That numb, picture-perfect, belligerent, medicated, narcissistic, decadent drama-queen everyone believed me to be. Curse me and swear at me, call me all the names in the book, desecrate me all you want, I’ll take it all in stride as I always have. I’ll make them my own as I’ve always.  
_

_I can’t go on like this._

_Everything is… every hour, every breath… I can feel it, if I close my eyes...sit in the emptiness of this giant metal-encrusted ditch in the dirt...I can feel the cells decaying and dying, feel the dead flakes of skin peeling away and falling in those specks of dust we traced with our fingers in the sun, Angeal. I can feel my body stacking up dead ends on cellular level, can feel them piling up like fatal errors in a program, wondering when it’d be terminated. Wondering when I’d inhale without being able to get the carbon dioxide out of failing lungs. Counting the days, hours, minutes, seconds left until when a clot of dead blood cells would suddenly find its way to my brain and get stuck there, and then the dominoes would fall. Or maybe when the atrophying musculature would give out and I’d find myself on the wrong side of a blade…_

_I can’t do this song and dance anymore._

_Maybe you’d ask me why I didn’t stay… why I didn’t choose somewhere else…_

_I couldn’t._

_I lost my place to belong when I found out all Shinra’s been feeding us were lies, that all our lives that single fact had been more or less the same. The moment I knew the truth, even the shadows were pursuing me, the storm clouds closing in...dark everywhere, and I had to get out before every door would slam shut in my face. I know they won’t stop, that even if I go ‘round and ‘round until I reach the ends of Gaia, they’d still send after me…_

_I know you declined coming after me and ‘Geal to Banora. I don’t know if I should thank you for that, because it was you who I was looking forward to see, not Angeal’s protege. I didn’t think that little peaceful town would be where our paths would part, but let me correct that… It wasn’t Banora so much as it was Gillian._

_And I love her as a son would a mother, if I’d ever had one, if I knew how motherly love felt like...how to be a son… But so much for your declarations of love Angeal… So much for leaving your SOLDIER and honor and dreams to come looking for me in Wutai, for leaving your puppy behind...only to end up returning back to them. You never went AWOL, did you? I didn’t know you for a Turk… what a good double agent you were. Trying to reason with me and get me to return, weren’t you? That’s why that Gelnika never dropped those bombs on everything and everyone, wasn’t it? Where has all your love gone?_

_But I guess it’s all alright in the end...even though I swallow my cries, even though I push back the raging sea of emotions, of tears. The howling wind, this never-ending snowstorm echoes the pain I feel...inside._

_I won’t say I forgive you, but not because I want to be cruel, but because there’s nothing to forgive. Even though you both left me unmoored when I was a ship losing control, when I had nowhere to sail to, my love for both of you doesn’t work that way...it never did._

_Loveless, that’s how you left me._

_And my Loveless, my treasure poem, has no meaning anymore. I found the last act, and I decided...that it’s going to be my fate. To spare everyone a world of hurt...or rather the sands, the seas, the skies and just...the two of you. The only people who ever mattered to me, the ones I care for, that I loved, and still do._

_I’ll miss you._

_I’ll miss the sound of your voice, the melody of your laughter, the ephemeral yet memorable minutes we shared. I’ll take them with me because the alternative is taking the world. Forgive me this selfishness, but instead of acerbic fruits, instead of chalices of bane, I’ll take these precious gems as souvenirs, and leave the world and its toils for you...for I’ve always believed that if there’s anyone who can be a god to this world, it’s you._

_I’m not fond of goodbyes, so don’t expect any farewells…_

_Give this to him after I’m gone. Can you please at least do this for me, Ang?_


End file.
